The Fadeaway: A Smart Jocks Novel

by Jenshak, Rebecca

  “I’m fine.” I feel their eyes still on me as I look over the menu. I set it down and stand. “Actually, I’m not hungry anymore. Mario, can you drop them off?” I point to Wes and Blair, and he nods. “See you guys back at the house.”

  I drive to Ray Fieldhouse and walk inside. The women’s basketball team is just finishing up and I wait until they’re gone to grab a ball and dribble onto the court.

  If you asked any of my teammates, they’d probably say I prefer game day to practice. I like the roar of the fans, the way that all eyes are on me and my team, and the rush knowing I can bring an entire stadium to their feet with the perfect shot. But being on the court alone, just me, the ball and the hoop – there’s something almost religious about it. No fanfare, no applause, no expectations.

  I lose track of time as I shoot. The routine of it soothes me and I’ve nearly forgotten about the girl wreaking havoc on my sanity.

  “Moreno, what are you doing here?” Coach’s voice booms across the court. I rebound the ball and turn to find him on the sidelines giving me a confused look. He walks toward me, and I can’t help but notice that from far away he looks like he might be part of the team. Tall, still built, wearing shorts and an old Baylor basketball shirt that’s cut at the sleeves. The year nineteen ninety-nine proudly displayed on the front is faded from being washed too many times. He’s not one of those coaches that looks like he enjoys a big steak dinner every night with boosters and alumni with big pockets. He doesn’t go as far as to scrimmage or workout with us, but I’m certain he could give us all a good run for our money on or off the court.

  “Just getting in some shots. Big game tomorrow.”

  He eyes me in that way that tells me he knows it’s bullshit, but he doesn’t call me out. “Should go home and get some rest.”

  The phone he’s carrying in his hand pings and he grins as he reads whatever is on the screen. Coach lifts his phone in a salute. “Alright, get out of here. I’m gonna do the same.”

  Seems everybody has someone to get to tonight except me. Which is bullshit because I could have a dozen different girls waiting for me at home if I wanted. Anyone but her.

  Damn her.

  9

  Katrina

  I watch the end of the Valley game on TV. I’ve never been to a college game in person, but since our basketball team went to the Final Four last year, I guess I’ve got caught up in the excitement as much as the rest of the university.

  And it doesn’t hurt that the object of my every thought is wearing jersey number thirty-three and dancing around on the sidelines like he doesn’t have a care in the world. I mean Valley did win, but the rest of his team looks serious and focused despite the victory. Joel looks as comfortable as if he were celebrating a pickup game at the local park.

  My mind wanders to Friday night and that kiss. That kiss. Never in my life have I been kissed so… thoroughly. Joel kisses like I imagined. No, better. My lips tingle and I bring my fingertips to them wishing I could bring the memory to life. My face warms and I shake my head hoping to clear it. A million and one things to do and my brain replays the look of desire just seconds before he kissed me. He looked at me that way. Like kissing me was as important as taking his next breath.

  Joel’s Valley basketball roster picture splashes on the TV and the announcers discuss his season and daily stats. They continue talking about him until they’re forced to a commercial break and I finally get a second without the greatness of Joel Moreno all up in my grill.

  I busy myself around the apartment, folding laundry, doing dishes, and picking up toys until my mind is focused. I grab my laptop and sit on the couch to finish editing the dialogue in the last scene of the play when my phone pings. I reach for it absently, bring it up to my face and glance down ready to dismiss whatever notification or news alert has interrupted my writing.

  And stop short.

  Jaw gapes.

  Body flames.

  It’s the second day in a row he’s shocked me by reaching out.

  Four little words pummel my heart as I read the notification: JoelMoreno33 wants to send you a message. My social media accounts are locked down and I’ve never been so glad.

  I’d be lying if I said I’d never checked out his, which are very much public. His posts and interactions are as entertaining as he is. And let’s not even talk about the photos he’s tagged in. There’s an actual Joel Moreno Fan Page.

  My thumb glides over the notification and before I can make too big a deal of it, I press Accept and open the message. It’s a video of a guy taking a shower. You can’t see anything but the guy’s legs until a cat walks into the shower and starts rubbing against him getting all wet but clearly happy for the attention and completely undeterred. I’m sure there’s some sort of message here but instead of engaging I close out without a response.

  Not five seconds go by before a text pings.

  Joel: You’re still up. What are you doing?

  Crap, I forgot Instagram shows when the other person has read the message. Rookie mistake. I laugh a little at the way I worked a sports reference in and then groan because I just laughed out loud in my quiet apartment. Christian’s been asleep for hours after the longest no nap day in history.

  Me: Writing. Congrats on the game.

  Joel: Thanks. Tell me a bedtime story, master storyteller, I’m tired as fuck but buses were not meant for tall people.

  Me: Once upon a time there was a very tall boy…

  Joel: Man, sweetheart. Tall man.

  I roll my eyes but smile as I correct the intro to the story.

  Me: Once upon a time there was a very tall man-boy with hair the color of coal.

  Joel: And the body of Zeus.

  Me: Who is telling this story?

  Joel:

  Me: His mouth was clever. His words charming. So charming that when he spoke women fell to their knees. But the strong man-boy, simply swept the women up and took them to his lair where he ravaged them. Later, he left them alone and cold to find more women to bring back. For he was greedy and wanted all the women for himself.

  Joel: Lair, badass.

  Me: But as the years passed, he grew a terrible hunch on his back from continually bending down and sweeping the swooning women into his arms. Disgusted by the now ugly and hunched man-boy, all the women in his lair stood, pulled themselves together, and went about their lives like the man-boy had never existed. The end.

  Joel: Weird. Is that supposed to be some sort of cautionary tale?

  Me: Just an impromptu bedtime story, man-boy. All persons in this story were fictional.

  Joel: Now I’m going to have nightmares of hunchbacks, thanks a lot.

  Me: I do what I can.

  Joel: Come over tonight.

  Me: You never give up, do you?

  Joel: Never.

  I’m typing my sign off for the night when another text comes in and I laugh into the silence of my apartment for a second time tonight.

  Joel: If I ever do get you to my lair, I’m totally going to ravage you.

  Me: And leave me cold and alone?

  Joel: With you in my lair, I don’t think that would be possible.

  * * *

  Between classes and the play, the week flies by in a blur. I haven’t heard from Joel again and I’m wondering if I should have just slept with him the night of the party or taken him up on his offer to go over to his house this weekend. I mean if that was my last shot, should I have just gone for it? I watch the clock like a hawk in a futile attempt to speed it up or slow it down – alternating feelings depending on the minute. I’m not even sure he’s going to show up to the café again. He may not have gotten exactly what he wanted, but maybe that kiss and my continued refusal to sleep with him was the last straw.

  Is that what I want, to get rid of him? Or did I honestly think he was going to chase after me forever?

  I groan audibly.

  Before I can work out my feelings, he
pushes through the door and locks onto my gaze with an intensity that I feel in my toes.

  “Morning, Kitty.”

  “Coffee?” I ask, and he nods.

  “And maybe dinner tonight?”

  A small, okay a large, part of me jumps for joy that he’s not given up on me. But then that makes no sense because I’m not going to say yes. But how do I justify the relief I feel that he’s here? Guess that answers my question if I wanted to get rid of him. I don’t.

  “Sorry, I can’t.”

  “¿Por qué mierda sigo torturándome?” he mutters under his breath.

  His exasperation makes me smile. My saying no has never seemed to bother him before. Not really. Not like this. And there’s something seriously sexy about a man speaking in another language.

  “But,” I say quietly, and his head snaps up and something that looks like hope flashes across his face. “I have a project I’m working on that I could use your help.”

  “A school project?”

  “A play I’m writing. It’s set in Mexico.”

  “Ah.” He seems to consider that. “I could help you during our date.”

  That seems unlikely, but maybe I can barter. I mean, honestly, a date with Joel in exchange for help with the play that might make the difference on job applications next year is hardly an unfair trade. And worst case, it’ll be the most entertaining night of my life. Of that, I have no doubt.

  “I’ll make you a deal. If you help me, then I’ll go out with you. One date.”

  “Done,” he answers without hesitation. “Pick you up tonight at seven?”

  “Oh, uh, tonight’s not good for me.” Oh God, am I really doing this? Once I go out with him, the fantasy will be gone and there’ll be no going back to Thursdays where Joel waltzes in and tries to sweep me off my feet. I’ll have been swept and he’ll move on to someone new.

  And I still haven’t told him about Christian. I realize now I should have just told him the first time he strolled in and hit on me, but I’d wanted to stay in fantasy land. Now it’s all weird because I haven’t told him and how do you just blurt out, I have a kid, without sounding like a weirdo or like you’re asking for a blood signature relationship oath? It’s a tricky situation that I’ve mostly avoided in the past by not letting men in at all.

  “How about Sunday afternoon?”

  “That’s three days away.” He raps his knuckles on the counter as he thinks. "Sunday afternoon. I’ve got somewhere I need to be at noon. How’s ten?"

  “Ten is good.” Or I hope it is. I need to check with Nadine and my mom and see if one of them can watch Christian for a few hours. They’re always insisting it’s no problem and it is technically for school.

  “Perfect.”

  I grab a cup, mostly to have something to do with my hands. “The usual?”

  “Ya know what? I think I’m good.” He smiles and steps back. “I finally got what I’ve really been coming in here for all these months… a date.”

  “Sunday isn’t a date, it’s a study session,” I call after him.

  He places both hands over his ears. “La, la, la, la.”

  I shake my head slowly at his antics, but my heart beats faster.

  * * *

  “Grandma Nadine is going to be here in five minutes.”

  Christian doesn’t move from his spot in the middle of the living room floor. He’s got an elaborate race track set up and pushes cars around in circles and up ramps. My son may be chill about the day, but I am not.

  Books, check. Laptop, check. Notebook and pen, check and check. Satisfied that the third perusal of my backpack hasn’t changed the fact it’s ready to go, I step toward my bedroom so I can look at myself in the mirror again. I’ve not even made it over the threshold when the doorbell rings. Guess this is as good as I’m going to look.

  I open the door as Christian stands and runs to greet Grandma Nadine.

  Except…

  “Victor, what are you doing here?” The edge in my voice is uncalled for and I try and recover. “Sorry. I thought Nadine was coming.”

  “Daddy,” Christian says and throws himself at Victor’s legs.

  Victor gives him a pat on the head and walks in. “I drove back yesterday, so she sent me. Thought I could take Christian for pancakes – heard it’s a Sunday tradition.”

  Christian squeals with excitement.

  “Christian, can you go put your toys in your room while I talk to Mommy?”

  My internal alert radar goes off and my body tenses waiting for what must surely be bad news. Victor has been to our apartment exactly once before and that was because Nadine came down with the flu and couldn’t bring Christian home one weekend.

  “What’s up?” I ask when Christian’s arms are full of toys and he’s headed to his room.

  “I’m moving back. Well, moved back, I guess.”

  “With your parents?” I cringe at the judgey way it comes out.

  “For now. I’m going to get a job and then finish up my degree at the community college.”

  “That’s great.” I think? I’m completely thrown. “Everything okay?”

  “Yeah.” He shifts uncomfortably. “You know school was always hard for me.”

  The smallest bit of pity washes over me as I realize he probably dropped before he flunked out.

  “Well, Christian will be glad to see more of you.”

  He nods once curtly. “Mom thought… I thought maybe I could keep him for a week or two. I’ll be free until I find a job and it’d give you a break.”

  “I don’t need a break from my son,” I whisper-screech.

  Victor runs a hand over his jaw. He’s sporting a short, trendy beard that’s new since the last time I saw him. “Look, Katrina, I just thought it’d be nice to spend some more time with him while I’m not busy.”

  So many snarky comments sit on the tip of my tongue. Like, yes it would be nice if you’d spent time with him… the past three years. And, while you’re not busy? How selfless of you. But I bite them back as Christian comes racing out of his room.

  “Let me think about it. He’s got preschool and soccer. We have a routine here.” I grab my backpack, tell Christian to have fun with his dad and squeeze him hard. “I’ll be back by two.”

  At the library, I snag a table on the second floor in a back corner that gives me a view of the stairs. I’m hopeful with my vantage point I will see him before he sees me. With Joel, I’ll take any advantage I can get. The guy seriously throws me off kilter. I’m nervous for a study session which is ridiculous, but there it is.

  I pull out my notebook and laptop and get lost in the world of Hector and Imelda. I’m chewing on the end of my pen cap, imagining a scene in my head when he drops into the chair in front of me. So much for my advantage. I startle and he grins.

  “Writing more stories about me?”

  I was, in fact, imagining him as Hector, but like I’d give him the satisfaction of knowing that.

  “No. Far more interesting heroes.”

  He glances at my notebook. “What are you working on?”

  “The play I told you about. I’m still working on some dialogue. I’d love to get your feedback when it’s ready, but for now, maybe it’d be more useful if I asked the questions I prepared?” I ramble, so nervous the words spill together, and Joel looks at me like he’s utterly confused.

  10

  Joel

  “You said your mother came to the United States after high school. What made her decide to leave Mexico?”

  I stare at Katrina for a solid five seconds without comprehending the words that have come out of her mouth. For starters, when did I tell her about my mom coming from Mexico after high school? And then the obvious follow-ups like why the hell does she want to know personal information about my family? I thought this was about a school paper.

  I’m not proud that my first thought goes to her selling information about me to some tabloid or maybe she’s started her own blog on my awful pickup lines, but h
er followers got bored and now want more juicy details.

  “I’m sorry, what does this have to do with my helping you?”

  She stares back blankly before responding. “Everything.”

  Her gaze narrows while I continue to grapple for what the fuck is going on. I think back to the other night. It’s blurry, but okay yeah, I broke out the Spanish and I vaguely remember her wanting to know more about my parents and their immigrating to the US, but I thought this deal was just a charade. I’d pretend to help her for an hour or two and then I’d convince her to come home with me. Is she seriously expecting me to help her with Spanish?

  “You don’t remember.” She crosses her arms and leans back.

  “Sorry.” I’ve never been more embarrassed to have gotten memory fog drunk. “I drank a lot before you got there and then I took that Everclear shot… it’s fuzzy after we went upstairs.”

  She laughs, taking me by surprise and earning a few annoyed stares from nearby tables. “Oh my God. That’s so…” She stares up as if she’s searching for the right word. “Serendipitous.”

  “How’s that?”

  “You’ve been trying to get me to hang out with you for months and I finally do, and you don’t even remember it.”

  I run a thumb at my temple. “I remember.”

  She doesn’t look convinced.

  “I remember I was glad to see you and we had a good time – I think. I remember kissing you was nice.”